


Party Affairs

by Fire_Bear



Series: It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas [7]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arguing, Christmas, Christmas Party, Christmas Smut, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Love Confessions, Drunkenness, Exes, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Mistletoe, Rimming, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 02:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8872153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: Arthur is at a Christmas party with his boyfriend but, while Alfred is busy socialising, Arthur meets his ex.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeplerfer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeplerfer/gifts).



> ¬.¬ This is entirely Zep's fault. I blame her for everything.
> 
> There's not much... Christmassy stuff going on.

Arthur stood at the edge of the room, watching the party continuing around him. He sipped from his cup, wondering where his boyfriend had disappeared to. Alfred had dragged him to the party to relax after a hard week of working but the party was being hosted by a friend of Alfred's and Arthur knew no-one here. He had spoken to people when Alfred had clamped him to his side, showing him off. Because Alfred was a few years younger than Arthur, this had been rather embarrassing but Arthur couldn't hold it against Alfred; obviously he was excited to have his two worlds merging. However, once they had split up – Arthur for drinks and Alfred to say hi to someone – Arthur hadn't been able to bring himself to talk to any of them.

Sighing, he took another sip of his drink and cast his gaze around the room. He soon spotted Alfred talking to a young woman. She had bronzed skin and dark hair which she'd put up in an elegant bun, her neck and shoulders exposed by her strapless, blue dress. Alfred was leaning in to talk over the Christmas songs, batting tinsel out of his way. If Alfred hadn't been entirely devoted to Arthur, he would have been jealous.

Movement at the door caught his attention and he glanced over – and froze. There, as plain as day, was Francis Bonnefoy. Sure, he was older: he could apparently grow a beard if the carefully sculpted stubble was anything to go by; his hair was a little longer, tied back and leaving his beautiful eyes free to be viewed; he was wearing a shirt with its top buttons undone, revealing the hair on his chest. But it was still Francis.

It was still Arthur's high school sweetheart.

As much as two arguing guys could be 'sweethearts', at any rate.

Francis looked around the room and spotted Arthur as he was still recovering from the shock. Arthur watched his eyes widen. Then, as people tried to get into the room, he turned slightly, apologised and, after a slight hesitation, he made his way over. Clutching at his drink, Arthur hoped someone would waylay him – he had no such luck.

“Arthur Kirkland,” Francis said, looking happier than he had at the door. It made Arthur relax and he took another drink, waiting to see what else Francis would say. “I never thought I'd meet you here.”

“I could say the same,” Arthur answered. “Aren't these people a little too young for you?”

“Age is but a construct,” Francis said, airily. “Well, mostly.”

“Mmhmm. But I take it you're here with someone?”

“Shelly.” Francis turned and looked over to where Alfred was still speaking with that woman.

“Shelly? Sounds like some sort of sea creature.”

Rolling his eyes, Francis explained, “It's short for Michelle. She's the beautiful young lady that rather attractive young man is speaking to near the mistletoe. I wonder if we'll have a ménage á trois-”

“No you won't,” Arthur told him. “That's my boyfriend.”

Francis stared at him. Then he snorted. “ _He's_ with _you_?”

Arthur's eyes narrowed. “What? Is that so unbelievable?”

“A little. He looks like fun. And he also looks like he's _having_ more fun here.”

“Yeah. He's more sociable. But isn't that what they say? Opposites attract?”

“Like you and I,” Francis said, his smirk turning into a fond smile.

“Mm.” There was a short pause. “Not any more.”

“Not any more,” Francis agreed.

They stopped talking, both of them thinking of their high school years. When Arthur had moved into Francis's school, Francis had been asked to look out for Arthur. At first, they had been civil. Then Arthur had seen more of Francis's personality and found him irritable. There had been more arguments than Arthur could count and then, without warning, he realised that he actually _liked_ Francis. After their tension had changed to sexual tension, it was only a matter of time before they kissed.

For two years, they dated, Arthur getting more and more comfortable with his bisexuality. But Francis's flirtatious personality continued, Francis flirting with anyone within his vicinity. It made Arthur jealous and his jealousy shortened his temper. Their arguing returned to the fore and it wasn't much longer before they broke up, each going to separate universities.

“What was it you studied again?” Arthur asked, trying to jog the faint memory of Francis telling him.

“History. I was hoping to work in the Louvre or somewhere similar but... I'm going to be a teacher instead.”

“I see.”

“And you did some sort of Literature course, yes?”

“You remembered,” Arthur said with a smile.

“Of course. I'll never forget some of the stories you wrote. They were impressive. _You_ were impressive.”

Suddenly, Arthur realised that his heart was beating faster than normal. He hoped it was some sort of reaction to the alcohol because if it was what he was beginning to suspect it was, then... “Shame you didn't tell me that when we were together,” he said, trying to ignore his heart.

Another silence fell between them. “Would you like another drink?” Francis asked, nodding towards Arthur's empty cup. “Then we should catch up, don't you think?”

“Really? You... want to?”

“Of course. Wait there.” And he hurried off, leaving Arthur to take a deep, calming breath.

* * *

“No!” Arthur snarled, slamming his drink on the table. It sloshed over the sides, soaking his hand and staining the wood. “That was entirely _your_ fault! You're the one who got the date and time wrong!”

“I did not!” Francis protested, equally angry. “I checked the message I sent and it _definitely_ had the correct information!”

“Don't lie to me! You were seeing someone else, weren't you?”

“I was only with that girl because you didn't show!”

“Pah!” Arthur grabbed his cup and threw back the rest of the contents. It had been an hour since they had spotted each other and their civil conversation had turned to nostalgic reminiscing and then the dredging up of past mistakes. Soon it had devolved into an argument which was getting louder by the second. Around them, people were watching, obviously wondering what was wrong. Alfred and Michelle had migrated to one of the other rooms in the large house, unaware of what was going on, but Arthur was no longer looking out for them, too wrapped up in what Francis was doing to care.

“Deny it all you want, Arthur,” Francis snapped, “but you were in the wrong and you were just too... too _stupid_ to admit it!”

“' _Stupid_ '?!” Arthur began but he was cut off as a young woman appeared just behind Francis. She was swaying a little but she frowned at them, determined and annoyed.

“Hey,” she said, loud enough for both of them to hear. “If you're gonna, like, bring down the mood of the party, you can take your fight somewhere else. Go upstairs if you wanna but you're not allowed to argue here.” And she left just as quickly as she appeared.

The pair of them looked at each other and, with unspoken agreement, both of them rose and staggered through the living room. Once past the Christmas tree in the corner, they managed to regain some of their balance and they were both able to stalk up the stairs in a relatively straight line, dodging around the toilet queue. Arthur thought he spotted Alfred in the kitchen, chatting once more to Michelle but his simmering anger kept him on course for the upper landing.

There, they found that it was relatively quiet; only the pounding music and the distant chatter surrounding them. Arthur decided that arguing in a room would be better than being in 'public' which was what the girl had been most upset about. So he began to head to the second door he spotted, thinking that the first one would be someone's room while the other would be a guest room.

“Where are you going?” Francis demanded, catching hold of Arthur's elbow. He pulled Arthur towards one of the rooms on the other side; Arthur stumbled into him before he could wrench his arm from Francis's grip.

“Watch it!” he growled, glaring at Francis.

“You were going to go into a room, weren't you? No-one else is here to see us fight. We don't need to invade anyone's personal space.”

“And what if someone turns up?”

“Who is going to come up this far except the hosts?”

“Francis, have you _seen_ how much alcohol is floating around? _Someone's_ going to end up here.”

“Does it really matter? Does it matter where we fight?”

At that, both of them paused, glaring at each other. Arthur's frown deepened as he thought for a moment. “Are we arguing about _where_ to argue?”

“We... are...”

Stifling a chuckle, Arthur shook his head. “I think we're more drunk than we thought. What were we arguing about _before_ the argument about where to argue? Because I still feel...”

“Hm...” Francis said, tapping his chin in thought and raising his gaze upwards as if that would help. “I'm not... sure...” He blinked, staring upwards.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur managed to say, “You're getting old if you...” Then he realised that something was different about the doorway above them and he looked up again. Sure enough, there was something that had no place there. Yet, since it was a Christmas party, perhaps it did.

A single sprig of mistletoe was plain to see above them.

Slowly, Arthur returned his gaze to Francis. Only now did he realise how close he was to him. If they were any closer to each other, it would almost be an embrace. No sooner had he thought that than Francis had taken a half-step closer. Breath catching in his throat, Arthur tried to catch hold of the little niggling feeling that something was wrong, the alcohol making his thoughts a little sluggish. Before he could grasp it, Francis's hand was suddenly cupping Arthur's cheek in a familiar feeling, one which made his heart beat faster, in time with the thrumming of the music below.

“It's,” said Francis, his breath ghosting across Arthur's lips, making him lick them, “mistletoe. That's...” Trailing off, Francis pushed forward, ducking his head slightly to allow for the slight height difference. At the same instant, Arthur found himself pushing upwards and all thoughts of why he shouldn't be here with this exciting man left his head. Their lips brushed, tentatively at first, feeling out the familiar rhythm. Then Francis's arms were around Arthur, pulling him towards him, Arthur's arms wrapping around Francis's shoulders instinctively.

The kiss was both familiar and different and sent sparks throughout Arthur's body. Everything seemed to light up within him and he willingly opened his mouth to Francis's probing. With their tongues twining and their kiss getting deeper and a little sloppier as they became desperate, Arthur felt around the door, looking for the handle. Upon finding it, he opened it and they stumbled through. Francis swung the door shut and Arthur hit out a hand as Francis pushed him back into it. After a few moments of kissing and slapping at the wall, a light came on. Arthur pulled away slightly to survey the room.

Thankfully, it seemed to be pretty bare. Everything was a cream colour and plain wooden furniture. Whoever was hosting the party obviously expected people to be using it as they had left a long strip of condoms on the bedside table and a large bottle of lube. Best of all, though, was the small desk and chair. Arthur leaned away from Francis who kept the contact between them by kissing at Arthur's jaw and then down his neck. Letting out a low moan of pleasure, Arthur caught hold of the chair and, after spinning it around, he jammed it under the door so no-one else could get in. Then he grabbed Francis's face and pulled him back up for another kiss.

Slowly, stumbling, they made their way to the bed where Francis spun them so that he was the one pressing Arthur into the mattress. The way they fell meant that their lips parted and, panting, Arthur stared up at Francis. “And here I thought,” he said between heavy breaths, “you'd like to watch me riding you.”

“Well,” Francis said with a smirk, “we've got plenty of supplies to last us all night.”

“Mm. Get on with it, then.”

“Always so impatient,” murmured Francis and set about teasing him as he usually did.

First off, he gave Arthur a kiss, passionate and needy. Then he pulled away, beginning to unbutton Arthur's shirt. As Arthur tried to catch his breath, already hard and clutching at the sheets, Francis dipped back down for another kiss – but this one was slow and languid and relaxed Arthur completely. Once he'd gotten Arthur's shirt open and pushed down off his shoulders, Francis began to kiss along his jaw and down his neck, pausing every so often to suck at certain spots, the points he knew made Arthur keen and moan. Of course, he didn't stop there, continuing down Arthur's chest and towards his nipples where he would suck on them one at a time, refusing to use his hand to provide ministrations to the other. Down, down he went and the lower his kissing became, the harder Arthur was until he was thrusting his hips, gasping, panting, moaning, pleading.

“ _Fran_!” Arthur finally gasped, reaching his limit. He bucked his hips a couple more times before his hands shot down, preparing to remove his trousers so it would be less painful.

Francis stopped him and Arthur looked up at him with tears in his eyes. The man looked more beautiful than he remembered, his eyes darker and focussed on him, only him. Licking his lips, Francis shook his head. “I'll apologise,” he said, reaching down to slowly unzip Arthur's trousers. The words made Arthur's heart thud harder, his whole body pulsing with need and emotions too complicated for him to comprehend in the moment.

Achingly slowly, Francis undressed Arthur completely until he was writhing beneath him, desiring Francis more and more with each passing second. Soon, all Arthur was wearing was his shirt which was tangled around his arms. When Arthur reached for Francis, hoping to pull him close, to _feel_ him, the shirt got in the way so he shook it off to be entirely naked. Francis watched him, his face red and sweat rolling down his temples: he was evidently holding himself back. Frowning, Arthur reached for Francis's clothes and began removing them, quickly and efficiently. Francis laughed at that but allowed him to do as he pleased; Arthur only stopped when Francis was only wearing boxers.

Pulling Francis closer, Arthur kissed at Francis's neck and chest, willing him to hurry up. How much longer would it take to prepare him? How much longer till Francis was inside him? Arthur almost couldn't bear it, whining into a deep kiss Francis bestowed on him.

Thankfully, Francis heard his need and reached down to begin to slowly stroke him. With a muffled shout into Francis's mouth, Arthur tensed and arched, bucking his hips slightly, searching for more friction. Nipping at the corner of Arthur's mouth in a silent plea to be patient, Francis pulled away to reach for the lube and condoms. He struggled to get one condom off the strip, his coordination sloppy with the alcohol still in his system. But, once he had one little square set aside and ready, he opened the bottle of lube and poured a liberal amount on his fingers, warming it up with panted breaths.

Willing himself to relax instead of tensing with the anticipation, Arthur spread his legs, an unspoken invitation. It was also a silent plea to hurry up. He wanted Francis inside him, wanted to _feel_ him. Francis chuckled a little and obliged Arthur's request, pushing one of his legs into a better position. Arthur lifted his hips a little and waited for it, his hands clenching on the covers, his heart beating so loud in his ears that it drowned out the music from downstairs. He gasped when Francis's slick hand finally touched him and he had to fight himself to stop from squirming.

Carefully, Francis pushed against him, his finger sliding in easily. Arthur had had sex recently with... The thought almost wrenched him from his pleasure but Francis crooked his finger in _just_ the way Arthur loved and he cried out, arching into him. His chest heaved as Francis slowly, carefully, gently, sweetly opened him up. As he did so, Francis began to kiss up and down Arthur's legs, biting at his thighs and likely leaving marks. When he reached Arthur's cock, he pushed in a second finger while mouthing at it. Everything became about the pleasure of the two sensations for Arthur so he was a little startled when he became aware that he was chanting Francis's name over and over, unaware he had even been breathing.

“Arthur,” Francis murmured, scissoring his fingers, adding a slight pain to Arthur's intense feelings. “Arthur. My wonderful, beautiful Arthur.”

The words made Arthur's chest feel heavy, emotions making his eyes prick with tears. Letting go of the sheets with one hand, Arthur quickly covered his eyes, hoping that Francis wouldn't see them, wouldn't become concerned, wouldn't stop. He needed Francis, wanted him, more so with every passing minute. It was a deep-rooted feeling, something which Arthur didn't think he'd ever forget.

“Don't,” said Francis suddenly, pausing to pull at Arthur's arm. “I need to see you.”

“But...” Arthur couldn't say anything more, still trying to catch his breath. He let Francis move his arm, staring up at him. They both watched each other, Arthur noticing the emotions swirling in Francis's eyes but, underneath them all, was something he had seen often when they had been in high school.

Suddenly, Francis pushed in a third finger and Arthur gasped, his breath caught by Francis himself as he pressed his lips against Arthur's. Their kiss was light, their movements making them break apart often, but Arthur felt they were more connected than ever as their breaths mingled, his panting keeping pace with Francis's heavy breathing. Tongues tangled and Arthur felt almost at peace.

Then Francis removed his fingers and Arthur pulled back, pressing his back into the bed as he lifted his hips, seeking more, more, more. Whining, he reached up and clung to Francis's strong arms as he moved above him. His movements brought both their dicks together, rubbing them against each other. Francis gasped and Arthur moaned, throwing his head back.

“P-Patience,” Francis breathed. “I need to...” He lifted a hand and Arthur followed the movement, his eyes finally focussing on the little square of the condom.

“Oh,” Arthur said, watching Francis intently as he pulled off his boxers and opened the package. Freezing, Francis watched Arthur, their eyes meeting momentarily. Making a decision, Arthur pushed himself upright, his arms wobbling. Ignoring his weakness and the wave of dizziness which threatened to engulf him, he rearranged himself so his arse was in the air and his face was on a level with Francis's cock. Taking the condom, he placed it against the tip and paused to glance up at Francis. Nodding, Francis gave his permission and Arthur pressed his mouth against it, using a practised motion with his lips and tongue to roll the condom onto it. Above him, Francis groaned and his hand found Arthur's hair, gripping it tightly before leaning forward slightly to put his fingers in Arthur again.

Once the condom was on, Arthur was loathe to leave, Francis's musky scent intoxicating him, the taste addictive. He bobbed his head at a steady pace, letting his tongue drag along Francis's cock, pressing against it. With his focus entirely on sucking Francis off, he nearly forgot about his own need to be filled, to be thoroughly fucked and adored. It returned when Francis shifted and something wet and hot pressed into his hole; Francis's tongue licked at him, opening him up further as he began to thrust it into him. Arthur moaned and it was echoed above him.

With heat and pleasure spreading once again through his body, Arthur began to change the pace of his movement, going slow one moment and fast the next. Humming groans vibrated through his body from his arse and he couldn't help pushing back onto Francis's skilled tongue. Wrapped up in everything, Arthur pulled off Francis till he had only the tip in his mouth and then sucked – hard. With a slurping noise, Francis pulled away from Arthur's hole; Arthur tried not to whine as he continued his sucking, almost wanting to drink from Francis despite knowing the condom would prevent that.

“Wait!” Francis gasped. “Stop. Don't do that.” He began to sit up, sliding along Arthur's body; it tingled and sparked at the contact. Not wanting to move, wanting Francis's tongue inside him again, Arthur refused to stop until Francis grabbed his shoulders and pushed him up onto his knees. Arthur panted, staring at the dark-eyed Francis. Looking him in the eye, Francis said, breathless and determined, “I want to be in you when that happens.”

Since his face was already red from the alcohol, from the lust, from the effort of holding himself in that awkward position for so long, Arthur probably wasn't able to blush. Still, he ducked his head in embarrassment before giving Francis a nod. “Yes,” he mumbled, still breathing rather heavily. “It's not enough. I need you.”

“I need you, too,” Francis answered, crawling towards him to gently pull Arthur into a searing kiss, one so tender and lovely it took Arthur's breath away again. “More and more, every day.”

“Every day?” Arthur felt dazed, confused by what Francis meant.

“Every second.”

That made more sense: the longer they talked, the more Arthur grew impatient for more touches and kisses and things inside of him. “Me too,” he said, holding out his arms. Francis drew closer and Arthur threw his arms around his lover. With his own arms around Arthur's waist, Francis pulled him closer and then tilted him backwards so that Arthur ended up on his back, his legs wrapped around Francis's waist.

“I'll be gentle,” Francis said, making a pang shoot through Arthur's chest. It reminded him of the first time they'd had sex at the age of sixteen and seventeen, Francis's gentle, calming words helping them through it.

“You can be rough if you want,” Arthur told him, recalling he had wanted Francis to get on with it the first time and told him so.

Francis looked into his eyes and Arthur could clearly see what Francis was feeling. With a gasp, his own eyes widened and he knew then that, far from the rough and explosive sex he had grown used to, he would be treated to a slow, torturous, sensuous, delicious experience. He couldn't respond when Francis said, “No.” Merely nodding in acknowledgement, Arthur tried to catch his breath, sure he'd never had sex this intense before.

Just as slowly as he'd done everything else, Francis lined himself up, keeping one hand on Arthur's leg to hold it out of the way. Feeling him close, Arthur slid his hands down from Francis's neck to his shoulders to give himself some leverage. It would also help him to hold on, to anchor himself while he was swamped with pleasure. Francis pushed against him; Arthur's breath caught, suddenly realising how big Francis was. With being used to giving blowjobs and being so caught up in it all, he hadn't noticed it before, nor had he remembered it from the last time they'd had sex. But he certainly felt at least a little bigger than-

His train of thought was entirely derailed by Francis pushing forward, cautiously entering Arthur. The pain which accompanied Arthur's pleasure of being filled, filled, filled, was quickly transformed into more pleasure. Arthur gasped, clinging to Francis, wrapping his legs tighter around Francis. He grasped at Francis's shoulders, his nails probably leaving marks as he raked them down his back. Francis gave a short cry at that and slid in a little too much at once making Arthur cry out as well.

They both paused, holding on, waiting till Arthur relaxed, his breathing somewhat under control. Then Francis continued moving in, forcing something too big into a space so small. Arthur cried out and moaned, clenched and unclenched, pulled him close and arched as Francis progressed. Throughout it all, Francis sweated, droplets dripping onto Arthur's chest as Francis fought to hold back his orgasm. Finally, Francis stopped moving and they stayed still panting, Arthur getting used to the feeling of Francis inside him.

He didn't think he'd ever been so full in all his life.

It made him feel appreciated, adored, beautiful, clever – or, perhaps, that was the way Francis was looking at him when he opened his eyes. Whether it was the fond smile or the large dick inside him, Arthur felt like he could stay like that forever and be happy. He didn't want it to end. So, when Francis began to pull out, he whined and tried to grab for him again, nails scratching at Francis's shoulders.

“Don't worry,” Francis whispered in Arthur's ear. “I'll fill you up again in a moment.”

The words made Arthur shudder with a combination of anticipation and pure pleasure. He curled his legs around Francis tighter and wrapped his arms around Francis so he could hug him close. “Please,” he begged. “This- I need-”

“I know,” said Francis and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Arthur's mouth. Arthur immediately turned his head, mouthing at Francis's jaw as the man teasingly pulled away. A needy sound escaped Arthur's lips and Francis turned back to him, pressing his lips against Arthur's in a chaste kiss – at the exact same moment he thrust back into Arthur.

Arthur broke away from the kiss and gave a shout, squirming and bucking his hips, wishing Francis's need to be careful with his lovers wouldn't make him so slow. At the moment, Arthur wanted him to be fast, hard. But he also wanted the peaceful pace and the tender kisses. He wanted everything: the cuddling on the couch, the stupid arguments they would laugh about later, the rough sex, the sweet sex, sex where he fucked Francis, the sex where they used toys instead. Some of the things Arthur wanted were things he'd already experienced with Francis. A lot more were things he had always wanted to do with him, to him, have done to him by Francis. All Arthur could think about was Francis and how he didn't want this moment to end.

Francis continued with his slow thrusting, building up speed. Every time he pulled out, Arthur couldn't stand it, scrabbling to pull him back in. A kiss accompanied every thrust back in: some were chaste and sweet; others were so passionate Arthur couldn't breathe. As he got faster, he began to shift, searching, his kisses getting a little sloppier as he concentrated. Arthur knew what he was doing and shook his head, muttering “No, no” over and over.

“Why not?” Francis asked on one thrust in instead of a kiss. Arthur almost cried at the lack of it.

“Don't stop. Don't want it to stop. Don't stop.” Arthur began to chant the words, shaking his head as Francis shifted and tried to find that spot.

“It won't stop. I promise you it won't stop.”

The sincerity in Francis's voice made Arthur focus on his face. Francis's jaw was set, his eyes ablaze with determination and lust and that emotion again. Arthur believed him, utterly trusted him with that gaze upon him. He nodded his assent and Francis shifted again and thrust in, finding Arthur's prostate in a perfect hit.

Arthur saw stars. He saw lust and hope and adoration. And he screamed Francis's name, uncaring where he was. Then all he knew were those stars, that intense burst of pleasure repeatedly taking his breath away, his name from Francis's lips, kisses which made his lips burn from want and need, the stickiness of their bodies, Francis moulding to his body, perfectly aligned, wonderfully close. His screams lessened in volume until they were mere croaks, his throat raw and pleasurably dry.

Somehow, he still needed more and, with another cry of Francis's name, he pulled his lover closer. “I need-” he managed to say before he gave a little cough and another cry as Francis slammed into his prostate again. “More,” he murmured. “More, please, Fran, more.”

“Close,” Francis replied, moving his hand from one of Arthur's hips with a sticky noise. “Mon amour, so close.”

If Arthur had been less caught up in the sensations around him, he would have laughed at the French. As it was, he said, “ _More_ , Fran. God, just-” Francis's hand on his cock made him freeze for a moment, his words choked off as he felt his dick being squeezed in a such a pleasurable way. When Francis began to stroke him while thrusting sloppily into Arthur, it was too much for Arthur who cried out his name and arched, white blinding him as he came all over Francis's hand and his stomach. Everything in that moment was about Francis, all of his pleasure stemming from him, his thoughts consumed by him, wanting him all the more.

Sated and exhausted, Arthur slumped, trying to catch his breath as Francis continued to thrust into him, watching Arthur. When Arthur met his gaze with lidded eyes, Francis's eyes widened and he cried out. “Arthur!” And, with that, Francis came, the surprise in Francis's eyes making Arthur feel proud of himself. Francis doubled over Arthur, holding himself up with shaking arms as he rode his high, staring into Arthur's eyes. It almost got Arthur hard again, that intense stare, and he had to bite his lip to keep from pleading for another round from Francis. He was far too tired and the alcohol he'd consumed earlier was flooding his senses again, making him feel much more drowsy than he had any right to be.

Eventually, Francis gathered himself and pulled out. Carefully removing the condom, he tied it up and, since he couldn't see a bin from where he straddled Arthur, he threw it onto the bedside table to take care of later. Then he let himself fall to the side of Arthur, rolling onto his back and opening his arms. Wordlessly, Arthur rolled over, hooked a leg over Francis's waist and nuzzled into Francis's chest, relishing in the feel of hair under his cheek.

It was quiet except for the music from downstairs which seemed a little calmer now. How long had they been at it? Did it matter? Arthur decided it didn't, tuning out the music to listen to Francis's still hammering heart, pleased that he was the cause and truly happy to be with Francis for this lovely moment. He tightened his grip and Francis responded by stroking his hair, his movements a little sluggish.

“I love you,” Francis said. “Always have, always will, chéri.”

“Oh, stop with the French,” Arthur replied, smiling into Francis's chest so he could feel it. “I love you, too. Always have, always will. I've missed you so much.”

“Mm, me too...” Francis said, his words and hand slowing till they finally stopped, his hand curved protectively around the back of Arthur's head.

Still smiling, Arthur settled down to sleep, uncaring of the party that was still in full swing downstairs.

**Author's Note:**

> I said all my stories for this Christmas thing would be a happy ending but you can probably see all the angst that is yet to come in that AU. So… it ends when they’re both truly happy for the first time in a while? Does that make sense?
> 
> Also… They seem ridiculously in tune with each other but that’s cause they were teenagers when they were going out and, uh, they did this sort of thing a lot. And they were in love, are in love, will always be in love, the frigging idiots.


End file.
